


Tension

by orphan_account



Series: Run [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Also the not-sexy kind, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Child Abuse, Frottage, Homophobic/Racist slurs, M/M, Spanking, The sexy kind, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(originally prompted on the kinkmeme)</p><p>An accident while John is visiting Texas over spring break brings the Wrath of Bro down on the two best friends.</p><p>Afterwards, Dave tries to make it up to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey, look who's got an account here now.

“What the fuck was that noise?”

It’s been a minute, maybe two, since you saw this disaster unfold in slow motion. Ten minutes ago, a squabble broke out between you and Dave over who got saddled with, as he called it, the “jenk-ass” controller. It quickly degenerated into roughhousing, which resulted in Dave trying to pin you to the floor, which led to you bucking him off to gain the upper hand, pitching Dave sideways. Right into the cinderblocks and scrap wood that supported the TV. You watched in horror as the flatscreen teetered forward, then backward, then forward again, and finally backwards, miraculously not falling on Dave. Less miraculous, however, was the jarring pop and shatter of the television snapping in half. You were staring in shock at the wreck just before Bro’s irate voice confirmed that yes, that had been loud enough to wake him. Dave, on the other hand, had been scrambling to his feet.  


You look up at him now, see him standing next to you, his shoulders hunched and tight. From your angle you can see his eyes behind his shades, wide like a cornered animal, and the moment you follow his gaze, you’re dragging yourself to your feet in record time. His brother is standing in the doorway, six feet and five inches of lean muscle and hangover, clad only in his boxers and shades. His face is blank, but you can feel the stare he’s boring into Dave in the tight-wound muscles of your friend’s posture.  
“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”  


Today is the third of the seven days your dad agreed to finally let you visit Texas over spring break, and it’s the first time Bro’s attitude has gone from, “haha, your brother’s weird, Dave!” to downright terrifying. He steps into the room and you instinctively recoil a step. You see Dave almost do the same, but then his jaw tightens and he lifts his chin just barely.  
“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Bro repeats himself, a little louder, a little harder. You see Dave swallow. “Y’got any fuckin’ idea how much that cost?”  


Dave doesn’t say anything and Bro’s presence seems to fill the tiny bedroom, menacing and oppressive. Your eyes flit from one brother to the other, younger to older. You’ve only seen them Strife once since you got here – it was terrifying and exhilarating. This, however, this is different. This is Bro’s will, overbearing and heavy, making your head spin and the air retreat from your lungs. This is Dave trying to stand, tiny and battered, against the bludgeoning force of it.  


“Y’don’t even care, do ya?” Bro’s voice is deceptively even, calm, for the threatening weight it carries. You’d probably not even notice, were it not for the tension with which Dave currently holds himself.  
“You forget how to talk or somethin’?” Bro asks, and you feel the tension coil tight around you.  
“C’mere,” Bro bites, and you feel it snap.  


When Dave tries to abscond, you can’t track him. You see his figure blur, smear, disappear, a black smudge flickering in and out of view in the small room. Bro is another story entirely. He is movement itself, his only impression on the environment in the swirl of air around you. In a flash they’re gone and in a flash they’re here again, over by the door to Dave’s darkroom. Bro has Dave by the wrist and Dave’s legs are going out under him, trying to break the hold with dead weight.  
“I said c’mere, y’little brat!” Bro’s voice has just the slightest snarl in it. He shakes Dave for emphasis, trying to haul him to his feet when he goes completely limp in his grasp. Dave’s shades skew. You see a lightless look in his eyes and before you even realise it, your body’s moving. A distant part of you knows you’re only putting yourself in harm’s way, but a stronger impulse is telling you that this is wrong, that Dave’s done nothing to warrant punishment, that you’re just as much to blame as he is, that _neither_ of you are to blame because  


“It was an accident!” you blurt as your body comes to a grinding halt beside them. The brothers’ reactions to your little interjection are polar opposites. Dave’s head snaps up and the look he gives you, eyes bare of his shades, is so desperate and so resigned at the same time that it makes your stomach twist into a funny little knot. Bro, on the other hand, looks down at you slowly, his face a blank, unreadable slate. Your mouth goes dry and you try to swallow. You know what comes next, what you’re about to do, and oh god, you wish you could stop it.  


“I mean, it’s not like we meant to,” the words come out in a nervous, breathy giggle and you flinch because this is not the time to laugh. He doesn’t know that this is a nervous tic, laughing when you’re scared. He’s gonna think you’re making fun of him and he’s just staring a hole into your forehead and Dave’s next to you, shaking his head just barely and mouthing “no,” but you can’t handle the silence and keep babbling into it.  
“I mean,” the laughter bubbles up behind your words, “We were wrestling and I pushed Dave into it on accident. I didn’t mean to, but it’s totally my fault, not Dave’s, so, like, I’m really sorry! I could probably get my dad to replace it, if you want – he’d understand if I told him what happened and-”  


You freeze up when Bro releases Dave and turns his full attention to you. “You think this is funny?” His deadpan tone makes the bottom drop out of your stomach. Dave edges a few steps back.  
You shake your head emphatically. “N-no, I just- I’m sorry!”  
“You think breakin’ other people’s shit is fun?” His voice pitches up in a cruel, lisping mockery of yours, “Oh, don’t worry, daddy’ll fix it!”  
You gape at him, manage to gasp out a, “That’s not…no…”  


His hand darts out, quick as a viper, latches onto your forearm. Out of sheer instinct, you try to jerk it back. It seems either Dave never told his brother about your pretty healthy levels of Mangrit, or he’s severely underestimated them, because for the briefest moment you actually manage to tug Bro Strider off his balance. You see his eyebrows shoot upwards and, as he staggers, you try to take advantage of the moment, tugging your arm back again to wrench it out of his grasp. His fingers clamp tight around you. He rebalances, pulls violently at your arm, reasserting that he is, in fact, almost a foot taller than you and still actually a far cry from your gangly, barely pubescent physique.  


But you’re still operating on fear reaction, still trying to escape, so you pull again. He answers with a rough shake, like a dog that’s gotten a hold of an old sock, and you feel something in your arm stretch wrong. Your mind jumps back to a year ago, remembers when Dave broke two of his ribs but wouldn’t tell you how, and it occurs to you that this man probably wouldn’t think twice about dislocating your shoulder. You think of a scant few minutes ago, of Dave going completely passive as soon as Bro caught him, and it drains the fight from you. A quick glance in his direction reveals Dave isn’t even looking at you. Even though he’s righted his sunglasses, you can tell he’s staring at Bro warily, apprehensively, his hands clenched into fists, clutching the front of his shirt. You jump when Bro changes his grip to your upper arm, leaning in close to your ear. You’re starting to learn that the angrier Bro is, the more emotionless his voice becomes.  


“Listen, you little shitstain,” his voice is so flat it could be clinical. “Just because your daddy don’t got the sense to beat some fuckin’ manners into you, don’t mean I ain’t gonna.”  


The words send a chill down your spine and your mouth goes dry. You look at Dave desperately for some kind of support, but the sight of him tells you it’s not coming. He’s drawn in on himself, head down and shoulders up, and he looks small, he looks like he wants to disappear, he looks eight years old. When you catch his eye, a look of profound remorse settles on his features. He shuffles, wringing the hem of his shirt, and looks down at the floor with an expression of deepest shame.  
Bro yanks your arm, jolting your attention away from Dave. He half drags, half shoves you in the direction of Dave’s bed. You stumble as he leads you, legs shaking so bad they can barely support your weight. The tremor is racking your whole body and it terrifies you because you know Bro can feel it, but you don’t know how he’ll react. You don’t know what he’s going to do. You’re scared.  


You’re scared because this is a threat you’ve never had to deal with before. The worst thing Dad’s ever done as punishment is ground you. The most trouble you’ve ever gotten in before was over _Operation: Powder Room Powder Keg_ , last year’s eighth grade grand finale. Even then, you’d known things weren’t that serious. As your principal had boggled at how you’d managed to single-handedly flood the bathrooms on all three floors of your middle school simultaneously, the look on Dad’s face had told you he was doing his darnedest to not burst into laughter. He’d taken you out for ice cream afterwards. It wasn’t a big deal.  
This was a big deal. This is the biggest deal you’ve ever been a part of and it’s over something stupid and replaceable. You’d be outraged, affronted that this is such a big deal, if you weren’t so terrified. This is the angriest an adult has ever been with you. This is the first time an adult has laid hands on you, shaken you, hurt you. This is the most horrified Dave has ever looked in front of you. And that’s the scariest thing for you right now: to see Dave – cool, unflappable Dave – cowering in fear of his older brother. He cringes when Bro turns his attention back to him. You freeze when Bro speaks.  


“Dave, go get my belt.”  
Your limbs feel numb. You look at Dave in horror and he turns his face away from you. His mouth twists, he fidgets, hesitates, then trudges towards his bedroom door.  
“Sometime this fuckin’ century, Dave,” Bro adds, and even though his voice is cold, you can sense the warning in it. Dave stops in his tracks, staring down at the floor, then blinks out of sight. Bro turns back to you and you quail. He doesn’t say anything. The grip on your upper arm tightens. A moment later, Dave’s standing beside both of you. He won’t look at either of you, his face still downcast, but from the way his mouth is twisted he looks like he’s going to cry, and a cold weight settles in your stomach when you see the leather belt coiled in his hand. Wordlessly, he thrusts it at his brother. Bro slaps his hand away, making Dave jump.  


“You, stand over there,” he jabs his finger at the corner where Dave’s bed meets the wall. Clutching the belt, Dave complies. “You, sit your ass down.”  
Before you can react, Bro shoves you onto the bed. You fall onto your back with a gasp and then he’s leaning over you, his hand is on the waist of your jeans, and you panic.  
“What are you doing?!” You try to throw him off, thrashing and kicking, successfully knocking his hands away. He grapples with the arms you’ve thrown up to defend yourself and then his open palm crashes into your cheek, rocking your head back. It stuns you into stillness.  
“Teachin’ you how to fuckin’ behave,” he snarls, using your moment of shock to grab your shoulder, flip you onto your stomach. The motion startles you back into action and you try desperately to push yourself off the bed. His knee digs into your lower back and a terrified sob escapes your lips. His voice has gone back to being flat and cold when he tells you, “Don’t make this harder on yourself.”  


His hand works its way under your hips, fingers wrestling with your fly. Your throat closes and you buck, trying to throw him again. He answers by leaning his full weight down onto your back.  
“Oh, what,” he says as he works your pants open. “He can’t talk and you don’t know how t’fuckin’ listen? Well, ain’t you just the cutest fuckin’ couple ever?”  
You twist your head around to look at Dave, standing in the corner at the head of his bed. You can’t see his eyes, but you know he’s staring at the two of you in horror, lips parted just slightly and cheeks flushed bright red in embarrassment. The belt in his hand trembles slightly, betraying how hard he’s shaking. Bro’s hand moves to the back of your pants, grips the waist, yanks them down, and you let out a startled yelp. He grabs your shirt collar, dragging you up so you’re kneeling on the edge of the bed. Your jeans bunch halfway down your thighs and you’re shaking from head to toe in fear, in humiliation. Bro’s fingers slip under the waistband of your briefs and you jerk your hips away from him.  


“Stop, Stop!” your voice is choked, on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry!”  
“No you ain’t,” Bro grabs you and pulls you back so fast you feel the elastic in the waist of your underpants give a little. “You ain’t even close to sorry yet.”  
He tugs down your briefs and you choke out a strangled sob, hands flying to your front to keep yourself covered. You look over your shoulder at Dave, biting your lower lip to keep from bursting into tears and pleading silently for his help. He shuffles a little, uncomfortably, his flush going a deeper shade of red, and looks down at the floor. You whimper in disappointment. Bro moves behind you and you jump a little when his weight settles on the bed next to you. He reaches out and grabs your collar again, and your startled reaction pitches you off the edge of the bed. You tumble to the floor in a tangle of half-undone clothing and hear an annoyed sound above you.  


“Get the fuck over here, already,” Bro says as he hauls you up with one hand, fingers digging painfully into your underarm. You try, briefly, to slip his grasp by uncooperatively going limp, but he twists the skin where his hand grips your arm painfully. “How fuckin’ old are you?” he asks irately as he keeps dragging you up from the floor. “Y’all just woke up and decided you were five today or what?” Your wriggle a little, still trying to break his hold, and he tells you, “Keep fuckin’ strugglin’ like this and I’m gonna knock those ugly teeth’a yours straight.”  


He lets go of your arm to reach across your back, grabbing a fistful of shirt and twisting your other arm behind you with his other hand as he throws you across his knees. Reflexively, your freed hand shoots out to brace yourself but Bro’s fingers latch onto the back of your neck. He shoves your head down until your cheek presses into the mattress and you bend, right at the waist, over his thigh. You’re still putting up a bit of a fight, squirming in his grasp. You hear the huff of him exhaling through his nose in irritation. When he releases the arm twisted behind your back you’re seized, briefly, by the urge to shove yourself off him. Then his hand comes crashing down on your backside. Your whole body jerks and you cry out in shock, muffled around a mouthful of sheets. Before you can catch your breath, he strikes you again and you surge forward. Bro’s fingers twist into your hair, wrenching your head back to halt your escape. You let out a dismayed wail and he spanks you again. He shoves your face back down into the mattress. Your buttocks sting under another blow.  
“I ain’t even fuckin’ kiddin’, kid,” he warns, hitting you again. “The more you keep this bullshit up-” Another whack. “The more I gotta fuckin’ learn ya.”  


The muscles along the backs of your thighs cringe under his hand. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears soaking into the sheets beneath you, and suck in a choking sob. Bro lays a heavier slap across your ass.  
“And man the fuck up!” he adds. The skin on your backside burns. “How fuckin’ old are you?” Your hips jerk forward under another smack. Bro’s fingers clench, he drags your head back up, bending your neck at a painful angle.  
“You answer when someone asks you a fuckin’ question, brat,” he hisses. His fingers, thick and calloused, trace the fine line where the curve of your ass meets your upper thighs, before leaving your skin and crashing back down with a sharp slap. You suck in a high-pitched gasp and he wrenches your hair. “I said, how fuckin’ old are you?”  
“F-Fourteen!” you manage to choke out, your voice desperate and strangled. He spanks you again.  
“You’re gonna have to speak up,” he tells you, and you yelp when he thrusts his fingers between your clenched thighs. “I don’t speak Pussy too well.”  
 _“Fourteen!”_ you cry, and apparently it’s good enough, because he pushes your head back down onto the mattress. You gasp when he pulls your legs apart, as wide as the jeans bunched around your thighs will allow.  
“So in other words –“ This time when he spanks you, you feel the rippling force of it against your balls. You whimper into the sheets. “– too fucking old –“ He slaps you across the backs of your thighs and the muscles in them twitch. “– to be crying –“ You sob as the strength of the next blow rocks your hips down against his thighs. “– like a little girl!”  


Two more quick strikes make you shudder and whimper. Your one free hand curls in the sheets next to your head, the other wedged between your shaking body and Bro’s torso. His thumb is on the back of your neck, running lightly over the upper vertebrae of your spine, and you don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose or not, but it sends a shiver down your spine. Something warm is coiling in your gut that is so completely different from the burning sting on your exposed skin, but still connected somehow. Every time Bro’s hand lands on your bare ass, it spikes and you feel your face flush. Each slaps makes you jerk your hips and you can feel his bare skin against yours. One knee is jammed against your exposed belly, but his other leg is propped firmly across your crotch. You’re hyper-aware of the brush of his leg hair against your skin, of the way each smack of his hand makes your naked flesh slide against his.  


In a flash of horror, you realise you’re getting hard. You bury your face into the bed with a groan of shame, wishing you could just sink into the floor and disappear. The sound makes Bro pause and you feel your heart pounding in your throat. You know it’s only moments before he notices and you’re terrified. There’s no telling what he’ll do in retaliation; if he’ll come up with some other punishment, just for this; if he’ll show Dave just to further humiliate you. His hand is heavy, warm, almost soothing where it’s come to rest on one raw buttock. His fingers are cupped where your cheek dips down between your legs and the tiny squeeze he gives it before pulling his hand off you makes your dick twitch.  
He spanks you harder, making you yelp in pain and buck against him. Two more blows make you bite your lower lip, tears leaking into the sheets and body shaking with sobs, as you rut against his leg. He whallops you and the way the pain churns up the arousal of dragging your naked erection over his skin makes you nauseous. With a final slap, his hand comes to rest on your bare ass, rubbing an almost comforting circle as he pulls your head up and leans down to speak softly in your ear.  


“Better get t’the bathroom and take care’a that before Dave sees, you kinky little shit,” he tells you and you hear the blood in your ears as you flush in mortification. As he sits up straight, he hauls you back onto your knees by the hair. One of your legs slips off the bed and you almost topple sideways, bracing it on the floor just in time. The shock sends a jolt of pain through your abused muscles, across your raw skin. Bro grabs your right arm to steady you and you flinch, sniffling. Your exposed hard-on is pointing at his chest and you feel thoroughly ashamed, humiliated. You can’t tell through his shades if Bro’s looking at your face or your dick, but he shakes you, breaks your fear paralysis with a, “Go on, get goin’.”  


You shudder, grab the bunched denim and cotton around your legs, hitching your pants up as you stagger away from the bed. Walking hurts and your briefs chafe your stinging skin and you whimper a little when you realise your cock is way too sensitive to stuff back in your pants. You have to settle on tugging your jeans up just enough to cover your abused bottom and it makes you feel dirty, stumbling to Dave’s bedroom door with your fully-hard junk hanging out.  
Behind you, you hear Bro get up off the bed, say Dave’s name. You can’t help but stop and look back over your shoulder. You see Dave backed up against the wall and Bro walking slowly towards him. You hear Bro tell him, “Yeah, you know you’re in for it,” see him yank the belt out of his hand, see Dave’s arms go up defensively. You freeze in fear.  
Bro grabs a fistful of Dave’s hair, yanks him away from the wall. Dave’s shades slide halfway off and he staggers to a stop in front of his bed.  


“Get that shit off!” Bro orders, smacking the back of Dave’s legs with the belt. You see Dave fumble with his fly, shuck his jeans and boxers down. As the cloth pools at his ankles, Bro whips the belt across the backs of Dave’s knees and his legs buckle. He collapses against the bed and, as Bro’s hand falls on the back of Dave’s neck to shove him over, you decide you _really_ don’t want to see the rest of this. You stumble out of the room as fast as you can, yanking the door shut frantically at the swish-crack of the belt striking Dave’s bare skin. Your breath is ragged and panicked in your lungs. You try to calm it, try to choke down the sob lodged in your throat, leaning against the wall for support when your legs decide they just don’t feel like it. Through the wall you can hear the sound of leather on skin, of Bro berating Dave.  


“Thought it’d be funny, huh?” A crack, a choked noise from Dave. “Bringin’ some smartmouthed –” A snap, Dave groaning, “No, Bro…” “– little gook faggot –” Sharp crack, Dave’s gasping sob. “– into my house?!”  
“Bro, that’s not- I didn’t- I’m sorry, _I’m sorry!”_ Dave’s voice comes out rushed and desperate, interjected by the whip of the belt. You whimper, curling your fingers into fists and pressing the heels of your palms over your ears. Chewing your lower lip, you slink off to the bathroom, pants riding down your hips. You switch the fan light on to cover the sounds coming out of Dave’s room and collapse against the wall. Way too sore to slide all the way down to the floor, you let the drywall hold most of your weight. Your erection is flagging, exposed and cold. You try to ignore it, to will it away, tucking yourself back into your pants gingerly. You sniffle, rubbing your face. The occasional yelp out of Dave’s room cuts over the fan and you run the faucet over the sink to mask it. You don’t look in the mirror.  


After what feels like an eternity, Bro’s footsteps pass the bathroom door, on their way to the front room.


	2. Chapter 2

“Well, that sucked.”  


Dave is scowling at the wall where his TV used to be. You’re both laying on his bed, side by side, facedown. Dave lent you a pair of track pants to wear – something less abrasive than denim and looser than your briefs – and they fit well for the most part. Maybe a little long in the legs. He’s in just his boxers and, if you turn to look at him, you can see the angry, red welts and occasional small cuts that mar the backs of his thighs. You don’t answer him, looking down at your hands as you pick at his sheets.  


You’re mad. Well, you’re a lot of things. Mad’s one of them, but so is still scared, and ashamed, and worried. You’d be mostly mad at Bro if he were still here. You _are_ mostly mad at Bro – you’re furious that he decided it was okay to hit you, to degrade you, to make you feel helpless and ashamed. You’re outraged that it’s apparently something he does to Dave all the time. But he’s _not_ still here.  
Dave is. So, even though you know it’s not fair, even though you should know better, you’re mad at him. You’re resentful towards him for not coming to your defence, for not backing you up when you tried to put up a fight. A bitter, irrational part of you says that if he’s supposed to be Mr. Cool Toughguy, he’s got no business hiding in a corner like a little kid when his older brother’s beating up his best friend.  
It’s not fair and you know it. You know that if Bro was that intimidating, scared you that witless on a regular basis, you wouldn’t be able to stand up to him either. Still, that grumpy little voice tells you, he could have at least warned you before you came down here.  


Dave fidgets when you don’t respond. You cock your head a little to look at him sidelong. He messes with the sheets, twisting and untwisting them in his hands, and from your angle you can see his profile behind his sunglasses. His eyes look worried and tired. They’re bloodshot and his lips are a little swollen, his cheeks blotchy red from crying. He looks down at the bed, then up, mouth working to form words that aren’t there, then he gives up and looks back down at the sheet bunched in his hands. When he looks over at you, and sees you’re watching him, he gives a little start. Pursing his lips, he angles his head in a way that you know means he’s looking back down at the bed.  


“Look, I’m sorry,” he says, his tone defensive. It irks you and makes you bristle. You look away from him, tugging on the sheet.  
“Don’t apologise if you don’t mean it, Dave,” you tell him softly, surprising you both with your bitter undertone. Dave frowns down at the bed.  


“No, I do,” he insists and something in his voice makes your stomach clench. “It’s just…you’re my best bro, so I got really stoked on the idea of you comin’ down to visit and I guess I convinced myself it’d be all right. Y’know? I told myself it’d be okay, I’d make sure we didn’t do nothin’ to make him mad, and even if we did, he’d only go after me, y’know? I didn’t think he’d-” Dave sucks in a breath and his voice cracks. “I just thought I could hide it from ya. I thought, y’know, if you did find out, I could just deal with you knowin’ what a fuckin’ pussy I am. I didn’t think he’d go after you too, y’know? I didn’t think he’d say all that fucked shit about ya. I just – I wanted to see you in person for once. You see how it is, man – just me and Bro in this shithole. No one else in the neighbourhood fuckin’ talks to us. No one’s parents let them come over cuz we’re the fuckin’ _weird_ ones!”  


You see his fists ball in the sheets and feel your anger with him ebb. “I just wanted one fuckin’ friend,” he bites through clenched teeth, “and he won’t even let me have that!”  
“Dude,” you interject gently. “I’m not gonna stop being your friend just cuz your brother’s a dick.”  
Dave’s lips form a hard, thin line when he looks back up at you. You offer him a weak smile.  
“Just…maybe you can come visit us next time,” you tell him and he scoffs, but cracks a half-hearted smile nevertheless. The two of you regard each other for a long moment before Dave turns away. Again he angles his head so you can see his eyes behind his shades. You doubt he realises he’s doing it - he looks distracted, eyes turned down to the bed again and lips parted slightly, as if trying to find something else to say. You nudge him with your shoulder.  


“You’re not a pussy either, dude,” you tell him, trying to be reassuring. To your dismay, however, you see his eyebrows draw down in a scowl and a pained, sad look pass over his eyes. He sneers and sniffs disdainfully, scratching his chin.  
“You got no idea, bro,” he says with a tone of resignation. “He may be an asshole, but when he’s right, he’s right.”  
“Thanks,” you say, slightly miffed. Dave’s head jerks around and he gives you a startled look.  
“I didn’t mean-” he protests. “I was just talking about me, man! That shit he said about’cha- I mean, he don’t even know ya, how’s he gonna talk shit?”  
You fix him with an exasperated look. Dave looks a little desperate.  
“You’re not- I mean, it’s not like you-” he halts a breath, then blurts out, “I don’t think your teeth are ugly!”  


You can’t help it. You snort, trying to suppress it, but a grin splits your face and you burst into laughter. Dave makes a face like an affronted cat and his ears turn red. The sight doesn’t help and you have to bury your face in the bed as you laugh harder.  
“Shut the fuck up, man,” Dave punches your shoulder. “I’m over here tryin’a make you feel better about your cuteass smile and you’re gonna laugh at me like that!”  


You take a giggling, gasping breath, trying to calm your laughter. It takes a moment to process Dave’s words. “Wait…what?” you ask, looking up at him as little flurries of snickers still escape you. “Did…did you just say my ass was cute?”  
Dave slugs you again. “That is not what I said and you know it, Egbert!” His face is bright red and it sends you back into a fresh fit of laughter. Something you’ve learned over years of videochat is that, for all his talk and cool-guy showboating, the first thing to betray Dave when he gets flustered is his pale, pale skin.  
“No…no…” you gasp out, chuckling and propping yourself up on your elbows. Dave’s defences are down and you’ve got to exploit the chance to embarrass him while you’ve still got it. “Keep telling me how much you love my ass.”  
Dave stares at you, his mouth forming such a thin, hard line his lips are almost invisible. You raise an eyebrow at him challengingly, tossing him a crooked grin. His expression slackens a little, lips relaxing as his Adam’s apple bobs once, and you’re just about to chalk yourself up a win for your Gambit when he surprises you. Fingers curl into the front of your shirt, pull you sideways, off-balance. Dave’s rolling with the motion, onto his side as he drags you towards him, and then he presses his lips against yours and you forget how to breathe.  


It occurs to you that you should probably close your eyes. You’ve kissed precisely one person before, and that was almost a year ago, during your eighth grade class trip to Camp Burton. It was after curfew, behind the girls’ cabins, and she had braces and you didn’t, and it was awkward, but you definitely both closed your eyes. You think just staring Dave down while he’s got his mouth pushed expectantly up against yours is probably way more awkward, but you’re frozen in shock. You’re studying everything you can see at this close range - his blonde lashes against his skin, visible through his shades; the curve of his weirdly thick eyebrows; the heavy smattering of freckles across his cheeks - and then you realise he’s pulling away. His eyes are downcast and his mouth is twisted in an embarrassed, disappointed expression. You remember the girl who stopped talking to you after those awkward few minutes in the woods, after dark, and you’re horrorstruck by the thought that this might make Dave stop talking to you too.  


Dave starts mumbling, “Sorry, man,” but you’re already surging forward to kiss him again. You miss by about a mile, nose bumping into his cheek as he gives a surprised little jerk. Both of your glasses tangle with each other and Dave squawks, “Jesus, John, what the fuck?!” and you have to hold still while he sorts out wire and plastic frames. You feel your face get hot and you blink a little as Dave pulls off your glasses.  


“Not fair,” you mutter when the world goes fuzzy and everything but Dave’s face loses definition. His fingers brush your cheek tentatively. You grin at him, surprisingly at ease, surprisingly honest when he asks you if it’s okay and you tell him, “Yeah.”  


Like kissing your best friend is just a normal thing; like kissing a boy isn’t something you never thought you’d do. You think maybe it’s because you’re all shaken up. Maybe you’ve just gotten to a point where you can’t feel any more scared and nervous than you already are, and timid, warm touches are just enough affection to do you in. This time, when Dave leans in and his lips brush over yours, you actually respond. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth moves against his, both of you still a little clumsy with inexperience. His fingers graze a line along your jaw and the catch of chapped skin on his lower lip sends a tingle from your scalp down your spine. It’s not much different, really, from the other time you did this. It’s a little less hurried, a little more comfortable. But there’s still the edge, the little thrill that you could get caught.  
Dave wriggles closer to you. His hands plunge into your hair and his tongue swipes your bottom lip and you gasp. He’s holding himself with a desperate sort of tension. You can feel it in the way he gingerly bumps his knees against yours, the way his shoulders don’t relax as he cups your face in his hands. You realise he must be more nervous than you are, even though he’s trying to put up a strong front by taking the initiative, and you decide, when he moves to deepen the kiss, that the best way to put him at ease is to show a little more enthusiasm. The second time his tongue traces a slow path along your lower lip, you slide an arm around his waist, pull your two bodies closer together and flick your tongue out to meet his. You swallow the choked sound Dave makes and push into the kiss, your tongue pressing past his lips and your teeth knocking lightly against his. One of the hands in your hair clenches tighter while the other slides down your neck, your arm, grasps just above your elbow and pulls you closer as Dave opens his mouth more to let you in. Your tongue slides against his. You feel his back arch under your palm and the rumble of his groan against your lips. It sends another shiver down your spine.  


Dave breaks the kiss with a gasp, drops his head against his arm. His shades dig into your cheek and you pull away with a chagrined frown.  
“Seriously, dude,” you tell him, breaking into a half-smile, marvelling again at how easy this is. “It’s not fair if you keep your glasses on.”  


Dave exhales through his nose. You see his jaw work as he sucks his teeth, then he mumbles a low, “Fine.”  
When he slips his shades off, he has to lean over you to set them out of harm’s way. On impulse, you slide your hand up his spine, pinning his chest against yours. He snaps his head down to look at you, eyes wide in shock, and you can’t help but crack a broad grin because you knew it! You’d already guessed, from glimpses of his profile, but it’s so much more impressive to see Dave’s bare face confirm that he does, in fact, have bright red eyes.  


“So cool,” you murmur, staring up at him. Dave purses his lips and looks down at your chest, ears turning pink again.  
“Don’t wet your panties about it, Egbert, Jesus,” he mutters. You thump him on the back. He looks up at you and you grin. His hand has settled on the back of your shoulder and it’s not a big deal. His fingers are twisted in your hair and nearly his entire body is flush up against yours, and it’s not a big deal. Dave peers at you skeptically as you beam at him.  
“You’re really okay with this, huh?” he asks. “Your bro starts mackin’ on ya and you just roll with it like it ain’t no thing?”  
You shrug the question off. “I dunno,” you tell him softly, studying his face. “I mean, I guess I should be weirded out cuz we’re both dudes, or something, but I’m…not.”  
Dave fixes you with an inscrutable, almost suspicious look. “This isn’t some kind of joke, is it?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at you. You lift your hand from between his shoulders and smack the back of his head.  
“Do I look like I’m kidding around here, Dave?” you scowl at him. He snorts.  
“You sure are grinnin’ a lot, doofus,” he says with a cocked eyebrow. His hand leaves your arm, comes to rest on your hip, and your stomach does a small flip in response. When he adds, “And quit hittin’ me, man,” he swats your thigh. It’s a light strike, but it lands close to tender, abused skin, and you jump with a small gasp. Dave’s eyebrow quirks higher and you see the corner of his mouth twitch in a smirk. His hand runs across your thigh, then leaves your leg entirely. You grab a fistful of his collar.  


 _”Don’t,”_ you tell him warningly. The smirk breaks across Dave’s face and his hand descends against your thigh with a crack. Your hips jerk and you suck in another sharp breath. The sensation makes you light-headed, but also reminds you of an hour ago. It makes you think of the slap of a larger hand on your bare ass, the touch of thick fingers between your thighs, the feel of dragging your hard cock over warm skin. You don’t know if you should be turned-on or ashamed - you feel both and it confuses you. You press your face against Dave’s chest with a pant, try to chastise him, but when you say his name it sounds more needy than it does scolding. Dave’s small chuckle vibrates against your cheek and the squeeze he gives your thigh makes your dick ache.  


“You got a boner when he was spankin’ ya, didn’tcha?” his voice is husky and rumbles a little when he asks the question. You look up at him in horror and see him biting his lower lip. When your eyes meet his, his lips part and he looks away. You see him swallow.  
“It’s cool, man,” he tells you, running his hand up your thigh to your hip. “It happens.”  
You shudder under his touch, caught again between embarrassment and arousal. “Wait, you mean…you too?” You squint at Dave. He shrugs and gives you a blithe, resigned nod.  
“Sometimes, yeah.”  


His hand slides past your hip and comes to rest on your lower back, pulling you even closer. You both have to rearrange your limbs so you fit together. One of his legs nudges between your knees and you fold your lower lip under your teeth, thoroughly distracted by the fact that he is mere inches from discovering how hard you are and if he’d just lift his leg a little more, it’d be his thigh you were rutting against.  
“Hey, Eggs…” his low voice and the pet name do funny things to your stomach. You feel your face heat up again and, still chewing your lower lip, you flick your eyes up to meet Dave’s. You watch the cocky, assured look that meets your gaze disintegrate into a dumbstruck expression. Dave’s lips part slightly, his tongue darts out across them.  
“Shit man, that ain’t even fuckin’ fair,” he mutters, his voice nearly a groan. “C’mere.”  


Before you can respond, his fingers are flexing against your scalp, pulling your head towards him as he crushes his lips against yours. It sends a thrill of pleasure through you, makes your dick twitch. You squeak in surprise, prompting the hand at your waist to drop lower, cup your ass, squeeze. Aching pain flares down the backs of your thighs, making you gasp against Dave’s mouth, and he thrusts his tongue past your parted lips in response. He uses his grip to drag you across those last, precious few inches between you two and then he’s groaning into your mouth. For the second time in the past fifteen minutes, you forget how to breathe. Your erection is grinding against Dave’s and he is _just_ as hard as you are. His hips rock against you and his tongue lashes against yours and you answer his groan with your own. Only two thin layers of fabric lay between your cock and his, and you can feel the shape of it, the ridge of the head dragging against you, when he rolls his hips. You wonder, for the briefest moment, where he learned to move like that, before his hand swats lightly at your behind and your brain short circuits. Your hips jerk towards him and you break the kiss with a gasp, head falling back into his other hand.  
His fingers slide off your scalp, trace a path from the nape of your neck, to the side of your throat, to the collar of your shirt, pulling it out of the way to give Dave’s lips room to attach themselves to your skin. He sucks at the hollow of your throat and you groan, your hips rocking to meet his. Both your hands ball into fists, one in his shirt and one in his hair, and Dave’s breath catches.  


“Harder,” he mouths against your skin. He kneads your ass under his palm, making your abused muscles ache, and when you don’t know how to respond, he rolls his head a little, pulling the hair you’ve got threaded in your fingers. Eyebrows raised in mild surprise, you give it an experimental tug. Dave’s hips surge against yours and you hear the hiss of his breath through his teeth. You tug again and when Dave bites out another “Harder,” you break into an impish grin. With a quick twist of your wrist, you wrench his hair, rewarded with a choked, stuttered sound that comes from the back of Dave’s throat. His teeth come down on your collarbone and he slaps your ass again and you jump. It’s still more playful than it is violent, but it gives you that weird twist of guilty pleasure nevertheless, so you pull his hair and tuck your chin to look down at him with a chastising, “Dave!”  
He looks up at you, panting. His lips are kiss-bruised, and his eyes are thin rings of red around lust-blown pupils, and oh jeez, you did not just think your best friend looks fuckable.

You totally did.

His eyes are slightly unfocused and his body is warm against yours, one ankle hooked around the back of your calf. Every time he rolls his hips, you can feel the bulge of his hard-on through his boxers, rubbing soft cloth and firm heat over your own. You must be gawking, because that sly little grin lights his face again. His fingers curl into the front of your shirt and he drags you down into another kiss. He sucks your lower lip into his mouth, scraping his teeth lightly along the inside of it, sending sparks across your scalp, down the back of your neck, straight to your crotch. You remove your other hand from Dave’s shirt, plunge it into his hair as well, clutching and twisting fistfuls between your fingers. Dave answers with sloppy kisses and an eager hand groping your rear. You rock your hips, not nearly as good at it as he is, but still getting the job done with the pressure, then drag, then pressure again of grinding your dick against his.  
  
The hand in your shirt slides back up your neck, cups your face, as the one massaging your butt skids up to the hem of your borrowed track pants. Dave hitches your shirt up a little, slips his fingers under it, and his palm is warm on your bare skin as he traces a path over your hip. It comes to a rest at your belly, pausing at the waistband of your pants, silently asking permission. It’s very gentlemanly, and probably taking a great deal of self-control, you’re sure, but you are way too hard to put up with hesitation. You protest with an annoyed sound in the back of your throat and an encouraging tug of Dave’s hair. An annoyed huff blows against your cheek and then Dave’s hand plunges into your pants and you’re honestly surprised you don’t cum the instant you feel the first fingers that aren’t your own curling around your cock. You do break the kiss Dave has you caught in, though, sucking in a shuddering gasp. He gives you a slow, experimental pull, his hand angled awkwardly, and you shudder, twist his hair in your fingers, making him bury his face in your shoulder and groan, muffled by your shirt. You breathe his name and you can feel his ragged breath through your shirt. His hand slips out of your pants, but before you get more than a grunt of protest out, it’s tugging at the waistband, shoving back in to grab a handful of your bare ass. You jump. A little. Dave cranes his neck up to kiss you again, hitches your pants off one hip, moves his lips against yours when he mumbles, “Help me out with this, man.”  


His hand leaves your cheek, fingers brushing your wrist as he raises it to guide one of yours. You let him lead you down, wriggling as you grasp the side of your pants that you’re laying on and help him shuck them down to mid-thigh. He kisses you through the whole process, his lips sliding against your lips, his tongue flicking playfully at your tongue, distracting you as you wiggle the rest of your body away from his, just a bit, to get free of your pants. His hand moves to cover your exposed erection and you push towards his warm palm automatically. Teasing fingers graze your shaft and you thrust forward again, but the heat of his hand remains maddeningly distant. After the third fruitless attempt, you feel Dave’s grin break against your lips. With a growl of frustration, you give Dave’s hair a final yank before dropping your hand to his backside and using the rock of his hips as momentum to drag him towards you.  


You realise the move is a little too eager when your dick gets pressed against Dave’s hip uncomfortably and you hear him hiss through his teeth as his body stiffens. He dislodges his hand from between the two of you to grab your wrist, gingerly lifting your grip off his ass. You flush with embarrassment, realising your mistake as he edges back a little.  
“Jesus fuck, John!” Dave gasps, moving your hand to his hip. “Have a little respect for the state of a guy’s ass before you manhandle it.”  
“Sorry,” you mutter sheepishly. Dave’s hand runs up the length of your forearm and he scoots back a little.  
“Tell ya what,” he says in a low voice, resting his forehead against yours. “You wanna get all handsy, why don’tcha pull it out for me?”  


You swallow, your mouth going dry and slack. There it is again – that little part of your brain commenting on how completely sexy Dave looks. His freckles are awash in a red blush and his lips are parted just enough to let his panting breath touch your face. Blonde lashes brush his cheeks and you follow his downcast gaze to the space between your bodies, to where his skinny legs are entwined with yours. You see his erection straining against his boxers, you see your own laid bare against his thigh, and then his hand is guiding yours over cotton and elastic. Licking your lips, you tentatively run your fingers over him. Dave exhales sharply through his nose, his head slumping against his shoulder. There’s a certain surreality to the whole thing that arrests your attention, keeps your eyes glued to your hesitant gestures over your best friend’s cock, only lets your brain fixate on Gosh, this sure is a different angle than you’re used to! The breathy noise Dave makes when you drag your knuckles down the side of his shaft is encouraging, and you sift your fingers through the fabric of his boxers until you find skin. His hips cant into the touch and you slide your whole hand past his fly, cradling his cock in your palm as you work it out of its cloth confines. It’s warm and heavy in your hold, and that somehow cements the reality of the situation. You can’t help but take a moment to compare, to note that he’s thicker than you – way…thicker – but also not quite as long. The flush of his dick is more obvious than yours, darker at the head, and the ridge along his shaft is more starkly defined.  
“You tryin’ to burn a hole in it, Eggs, or what?” There’s an obvious tone of amusement in Dave’s voice, though his face is heavy-lidded and clouded with lust. His thumb swipes over your bare hip and you look back up at him, gulping down a breath. He cracks you a crooked little grin.  


“Here, just…” he drops his eyes back down to the space between you two. The hand on your hip pushes lightly, angling you a little away from Dave, while he worms his other past your belly to where your opposite thigh is pressed against his. He runs his fingers across your hard-on again and you bite your lip, eyes sliding shut, as he curls a loose grip around it. You feel Dave shift next to you on the bed, gasp when warm, soft skin joins his fingers in their movements over you. Dave drags the length of his dick along yours, steadying contact with the light grasp of his fingers. A small moan escapes you and you let your head fall back on the bed, feel Dave lean in, run his tongue up your throat. It makes you gasp again, jerk towards him, against him. His hands steady you and you feel the shifting of the mattress, hear the rustle of cloth, as Dave rocks his hips slowly, deliberately.  


The touch of his cock on yours is teasing, almost aggravatingly so, with just less than enough pressure to get you off. The brush of warm flesh and broad, calloused fingers keeps you hard, wound tight and panting, and even though there’s a part of you that’s firing off alarms and screaming bail, bail now - this is absolutely, without a doubt the gayest thing you could possibly do, ever - every other part of you is shoving that urge down because it feels _so good._  
The hand on your hip slips around your waist. Dave pulls you back against himself, angling his hand to wrap halfway around both of you as you grind against him. The increase in friction makes your hips buck and a low whine pass your lips. You hear Dave groan in response and when you bring your head back upright, you’re greeted by the sight of his flushed face and downturned eyes. His lips are parted, panting as he watches himself work both of you, watches your dick rubbing against his. A tiny furrow knits itself between his eyebrows and you lean in to kiss the spot. He bumps his head up into the touch, briefly, then cranes his neck up to kiss you again, his hips rocking against yours. He swallows the needy sound you make and draws back to catch his breath.  


“Use your hand too,” his voice is low, rough, breathless. You swallow and shudder and rut against him. You work your hand between the two of you to join his, fingers brushing his wrist, closing the circuit around your two erections. You thumb his slit, smearing precum over the head of his dick, and Dave groans loud. His face drops to your neck and the hand on the small of your back slides lower.  


His lips, his teeth, fasten on your collarbone, and even though you know it’s coming, the slap on your ass makes you jerk under his touch. Dave drags a hard stroke up both of you as your own grip tightens and it’s almost enough to send you over. Before you can react, before you can even catch your breath, he spanks you again. His fingers rubs your aching flesh, dipping just briefly into the cleft where your ass meets your thighs, and the third strike that follows does you in.  


With a sharp, choked sound, you jerk in short little thrusts into both of the hands wrapped around your cock, feeling the first pulse of your orgasm spurting between your stomachs. Jizz, hot and thick, runs over your knuckles, slicks the palm of Dave’s hand and eases the friction where your cock twitches against his. His fingers push yours away, make room for themselves. They stroke faster, more desperately, and you ride it out, fucking his hand, his dick. You press your face into his hair, mouthing it as you gasp, unthinkingly threading your fingers in it, and when you clench and twist it, Dave’s body goes rigid. His long groan is muffled against your skin, but you feel his dick throb against yours when he hits his peak. His cum is hot on your skin, sticky where your bellies meet, where your thighs touch, trickling down your dick and mixing with your own. Your hips sway in time with his, your waning erection sliding against Dave’s still pulsing cock in the viscous mess pooled between your legs and his.  
You shudder with released tension, moaning heavily into Dave’s hair. Your head is heavy and you smile against his scalp when you hear and feel the answer of Dave’s contented groan against your shoulder. When you try to pull your hand out of Dave’s hair, strands knot and cling to your fingers and you freeze in dawning mortification. Dave’s chuckle vibrates against your clavicle.  


“Man…did you seriously wipe your jizz in my hair?” his voice is rough and you feel the heat of an embarrassed blush rush up the back of your neck. He gives one of your bare cheeks a squeeze as his hand slides off your butt.  
“Maybe,” you mumble, moaning a little at the sensation. His hand grazes your hip, leaves your skin, and you look sidelong at the bed. “I didn’t mean to.”  
You feel his fingers close around your wrist and slowly lift your hand from his hair. Soft, wet heat envelops your first finger and with a gasp you look back at Dave to see him drawing the digit slowly into his mouth. Panting, you watch as he diligently cleans what’s left of your cum from each of your fingers and your hand, your hips gently canting towards his at the sight. By the time he finishes, you’re gaping, and when he looks back up at you, his cheeks light up red. It makes your head spin and your eyelids feel heavy and you bite your lower lip.  


Dave leans in to kiss you again, but in an instant your brain recoils at the thought of where his mouth’s just been and you jerk your head back without thinking. He freezes and you feel your stomach drop. Something goes dull in his eyes. Dave looks down at your chest. An awkward silence stretches between you, broken by a flat, short laugh from Dave.  
“Right,” he says in such resignation that you feel your chest tighten. “Sorry, bro.”  
He lays your hand on your shoulder, releases your wrist as he folds in on himself. “If you wanna hit me or whatever,” his voice is a flat, emotionless pitch, “that’d be fair.”  


You stare at him for another long moment. Your mind is fogged in a post-orgasmic haze, but you think you still mostly get what makes your best friend tick and you feel bad for hurting his feelings. Even if you didn’t mean to. Even if you really were just kinda grossed out by the idea of kissing someone who had just swallowed your cum. Dave shifts his legs against yours. They’re sticky with your shared orgasm and the reminder doesn’t help the situation. Your brain’s already burnt out on the fact that you just got off with your best friend in the world, and that fooling around with another guy wasn’t that bad, and also Dave’s maybe more experienced than you? You mostly just wanna go to sleep, curl up into the heat of Dave’s body and let your brain reboot. But now Dave’s withdrawing from you, and it’s your fault, and you want him to be okay again, so you bop him on the shoulder lightly.  


“Why, you want me to hit you or something?” you tease, cracking a hopeful grin. After a beat, Dave rattles out a shaky laugh and his eyes meet yours again. You beam and even though there’s a brief instance where he winces almost imperceptibly, falters, a crooked smile manages to stay on his face. He shifts his shoulders, wiggles closer to you.  
“Nah,” he draws the syllable out, resting his head on your shoulder, face turned in towards your neck. His hand glides back down past your hip, squeezes your thigh when he adds, “I think that’s more your trip.”  
“Dude!” you gasp in embarrassment, feeling him grin against the crook of your neck.  
“I ain’t judgin’” he snickers.  
“That’s not even- I don’t-” you growl in irritation, unable to find the right excuses. Dave’s laughter gets a little fuller and, out of sheer frustration, you grab a fistful of hair and yank. Rather than having the desired effect of shutting him up, the move merely transforms Dave’s chuckle into a rumbling groan that sends all sorts of shivers through you. He follows it up with a slap on your ass and you grip his hair as your hips jerk towards him.  


“Ready for Round Two, then?” he looks up at you with one eye, biting his lower lip, eyebrow cocked mischievously. You drop your head to bump your forehead against his, grinning as your eyes slide shut.  
“I’m ready for a _nap,”_ you inform him. Dave answers with an assenting grunt. He shifts, rolls halfway onto his back, away from you. His hand leaves your hip and you grumble in protest, wriggling closer to him. You feel him shift with the movement of his arm as he paws around on the bed behind him and you pillow your head on his shoulder, nuzzling your face into his neck. His other arm curls around your shoulders, pushes fingers into your hair, against your scalp. You hum into the warmth of his skin, slipping steadily closer to sleep and further from the ability to care about implications, or consequences, or even messes.  


“This is gonna be nasty when we wake up, man,” Dave’s voice vibrates against your cheek and you can’t even care that you’re gonna wake up sticky and probably clammy. You answer him with a contented grunt and a wiggle of your shoulders and your hips. Dave chuckles softly again. He pulls the finally recovered blanket over both of you. It’s coarse and thin and you don’t care, but you do make one last mental note to maybe get Dave a new one for his next birthday. Dave’s free arm joins the other to wrap around your shoulders and everything is warm and comfortable. Just before you fall asleep you feel the press of Dave’s lips on your forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art by kilehye.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> don't mind me, just breaking this up a bit


End file.
